


These are the Keys

by onewithroses



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onewithroses/pseuds/onewithroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re too young to be a mafia, too sophisticated for the banal label of <i>gang</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These are the Keys

The world is red and black and white.

Sharp shoes, black jackets, red ties. White teeth like sharks circling.

They’re too young to be a mafia, too sophisticated for the banal label of _gang_.

“Will they ever catch us?” Erica has red, red lips and a smirk on. The question is a little girl’s pressed through a vicious lady’s mouth. It burns like razors and Stiles, black and blue with a cracked lip, sprawls backwards across her shoulder.

“No.” He’s had most of a bottle of cheap vodka now, and he’d care that much more if he didn’t know Derek was out in the world making it pay.

Boyd comes back then with a needle and thread—there to put them back together and Stiles smirks instead of sneers… then purposefully picks at the makeshift bandage wrapped around his shoulder.

“Don’t pick.” Boyd shoves the hand, making the teasing tug a jab and Stiles hisses.

“Hey!”

“ _Don’t_ pick.” Bandages removed, needle in and out. Hypnotizing like the drip, drip, drop of water sweeping into the abandoned subway station. It echoes around the room, settling in corners. Stiles eyes droop.

“This is what happens when you mess with the Hunters.” Erica, again. Vicious little minx curls her fingers along the buzz of Stiles hair.

He flips a hand at her, tangles it in her curls. “It’s not Allison’s fault.”

“Yeah, but its not like Scot’s stupid Romeo and Juliet with fucking guns makes it any better.” Sulk. Stiles laughs and jars Boyd. Boyd shoves Stiles back down against his girlfriend’s chest. 

“Stay still.”

“Keep pushing and you might have a reason to get jealous.” The tease is just that and it hangs until the tap of polished dress shoes on dissolving concrete steps hit their ears. They sit up. Erica straightens her hair.

“You carry a gun next time.” Derek has an arm around Scott, who looks mutinous and not just because he’s in jeans and a blue t-shirt. Those are the clothes they wear home to their mothers and fathers. Their uniform here is different because their purpose is different.

“Derek—”

“No, Stiles. Gun.” He releases Scott and lets the other boy slump into the beat up leather couch that has more tears than patches. He surveys them, eying them one by one. They sit, stare, in a row of perfect red and black—save for Scott who still looks like he wants to tumble back out into the world that they don’t yet rule. “Alright. Where’s Isaac. It’s time to get to work.”


End file.
